


The Question as Follows Is

by AmateurScribes



Series: Whumptober 2019 [26]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Character Swap, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, M/M, Mercenaries, Prompt Fic, Unhealthy Relationships, Whumptober 2019, abandoned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 19:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21184385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmateurScribes/pseuds/AmateurScribes
Summary: Why is it that the only thing that Grif knows how to do is run away? Why can't he- just once why-Why can't he just take back control of his own life?





	The Question as Follows Is

**Author's Note:**

> The title is part one of a three-part finish for this series! The next two will complete the question proposed- plus, I'll finally get a chance to delve into the SIM!Mercs more in the next two! 
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.

Donald Doyle was dead. And that's the only thing that Grif could think about even as they made their way to the temple that would purge this entire planet.

Doyle being dead wasn't something that surprised him, the man wouldn't last a chance in real combat even he could see that.

It was the way that he died that he couldn't stop thinking about.

By all means, Doyle was just as much of a coward as Grif was- and that's what had endeared him to the man, what made him chose the Federal Army when he and Simmons were picking sides. Doyle wasn't a bad person, unlike Grif.

And yet, it didn't make sense how he so willingly sacrificed his life to stop their forces.

If it were Grif with that decision to make, he would have just left- wouldn't even think twice about it.

If it were Grif, he'd prioritize making sure that the key stayed out of Simmons' hands, the key that he couldn't stop eyeing since the other mercenary activated it to signify the death of the general.

But Doyle evidently wasn't Grif. 

And now he was faced with the fact that sometimes, those who are scared the strongest can have the most selfless of hearts.

And he  _ didn't like that. _

It stirred up feelings of regret and doubt in his mind, because if Doyle could overcome his fears and become one of the greatest heroes this planet has ever seen, then what does that say about Grif?

Why were they still-

"You have got to be fucking joking," Simmons exclaimed, staring ahead at the temple in shook.

Being shaken out of his thoughts, he saw the Freelancer's guarding the temple entrance.

"Fancy seeing you guys here," Washington spoke, lackadaisical despite haunting and looming temple behind him.

"Why can't you guys just give up already," Grif asked, exhausted. He didn't want to let his worry slip into his voice as he side-eyed the stewing Simmons who looked one second away from launching himself at them.

He didn't know if they could beat this one- he didn't think they could match the strength of two Freelancers combined.

Grif couldn't even-

"Now where would the fun be in that," Washington responded, voice light before it turned more serious. "You don't have to go through with this if you activate this temple  _ everyone _ will die. Our forces and yours."

"A small price to pay to see you dead," Simmons snapped, activating his sword. "Get out of the way or I'll  _ make you." _

"Try us," Grif could hear the smirk behind Carolina's answer.

Instinctively his eyes wandered to see if there was anyone else around, and at noticing the lack of brightly colored SIMs he points out, "You sent the others to the Communication Temple?"

"Yeah, and from there they'll reveal to the whole galaxy what's been going down here," the male Freelancer answered.

"And you really have that much faith in them?" he couldn't stop himself from asking.

Before the Freelancer could answer, Simmons stepped forward in front of Grif, cutting off the conversation, saying, "Stop being distracted, we're here for a  _ reason." _

And like that, the other mercenary ignited the ensuing fight between the two duos, Grif activating his hardlight shield and taking position ready to defend Simmons from any attacks.

But something was wrong, they couldn't work in sync, Simmons constantly pushing him back when it should have been  _ him _ getting in front to block.

"What are you doing," Grif hissed.

"Just stay  _ out _ of this," Simmons had grit back.

It didn't make sense this sudden change, the other mercenary had never done this before, and they would have worked in such tandem, switching back and forth to block or strike, but somehow something had changed and now they could hardly get further than they already had towards the temple.

And the Freelancer's must have noticed this- this internal conflict in their dynamic- because it didn't take them very long to separate the two of them leaving Grif on his own.

He couldn't fight-  _ didn't _ fight- that wasn't- that wasn't what he did, that's not how their relationship operated.

But thankfully it didn't seem as though Washington was as blood-thirsty as his partner seemed- and something  _ hurt _ inside of him because it looked as though Simmons was doing much better when he wasn't around.

"You don't have to do this," the Freelancer tried reasoning with him. "This isn't something that your sister would have wanted for you."

"What would you know about my sister," he grasped at the handgun that he never used, not wanting to leave himself open for attacks, because a shield could only get him so far.

"I met her, and even from one conversation, I knew that she was  _ worried _ about you," Washington continued. "And she only spoke about how  _ good _ her brother was."

"She's an idiot," he retorted, eyes glossy not that he could see it. "We Grif's aren't  _ good, _ we're the bottom of the barrel, and that's where we stay."

"She doesn't think so," Washington spoke. "And I have a feeling that neither do you."

He lowered the unused gun, staring in the face of the sincerity of the other man. He could recognize an olive branch when he saw one.

And he thought about it, really thought about it. Grif could just back out now, drag Simmons with him. Grif didn't particularly want to kill everyone on this planet, that was more something that Simmons and Control wanted.

But there was never really any other choice when he heard Simmons shout, and he looked towards the floating platform that the other man shouting on, and he didn't even hesitate as he called out for him and raced off towards it, landing on the platform to block a hit from Carolina.

And from there it was a confusing mess of switching platforms, trying and failing to make any sort of headway, and by the end of it, they were all exhausted, panting from exertion.

"You can't possibly win," Simmons barks out. "You have no hope of winning! Why you even think that is beyond me-"

"Well, really, I think that we can," Washington responded, equally as tired sounding. "It all started when Donald Doyle decimated about half your forces, I think  _ that's _ when we figured that we really can win this."

"You're just wasting your time," Simmons huffed, not deterred. "Nothing you can do is going to make us stop."

"Correction," their AI popped up, sounding smug as all hell.  _ "You're _ just wasting  _ your _ time. In fact, I'd say that wasted time was the whole reason for coming here."

"What?" Grif asked, confused and not making any sense out of that. "What are you even talking about?"

"It's just like Wash said, half your forces were blown sky-high," the AI explained. "And that means when you sent out your troops  _ now..." _

"You left your base completely unguarded," Carolina sounded so satisfied as she said that.

And Grif could see the exact moment that it clicked in Simmons' mind of what they were planning on doing.

"No-" he yelled, looking towards the sky and seeing the Tartarus falling from the sky.

"It's only fair that we get to crash your ship," the AI concluded before disappearing into the Freelancer's armor again.

_ "Simmons-" _ he shouted, not caring about code names in the face of getting crushed. He dragged the other man as far away as he could from the expected crash point, activating his hardlight shield in an effort to protect the two of them.

Grif had no idea how the shield would hold up against the force of an  _ entire ship _ crashing into it but he had to try.

Upon impact, the Tartarus causes an explosion that rattles and shakes the ground and trying to hold up the shield against the pressure of it, causes his arm to strain and it feels like something snapped and broke as he continued to brace the two of them.

It's no surprise when he passes out under the weight of the rubble.

* * *

Why were they even bothering to fight anymore? What was the point? They should just- they should just take the Falcon and fucking dipped while they still had the chance.

And yet, Simmons was dragging him into the temple, dumping him onto the ground, and hissing, "Stay here while I kill them."

Muscles aching from before, Grif looks up at him and asks, "It's over, Simmons, why are we still trying?"

"It's not over until I kill them!" Simmons raged. "They- they think that they're better than us, just because they're the heroes in this narrative! Well, they're  _ not- _ they're just a bunch of idiots who should have known not to fuck with me."

"Simmons, there's no point, we're not going to win," he tried again, reaching out for him.

But the other man smacked his hand away, saying, "You think I care if we  _ win _ or not? Who cares about this planet- who cares about the money?! I'm doing this to prove that I'm not some- some fuck up mercenary who couldn't kill a bunch of idiots."

It was like he couldn't get past his own spite, and he never listened to Grif anyways, there was no getting through his rage.

Grif dipped his head down as the other man stalked towards where the SIM Troopers were, activating his active camo as he went. 

"Do you not learn any sort of lesson," the alien AI appeared before him, looking down at his figure.

"What's the point in trying to argue against him," he mumbled. "He'll just do what he wants."

"So you just let him walk all over you," the AI prodded.

"No," he hissed.

"So then why do you let him control everything you do," the AI's voice rose.

"I don't," he argued.

"Then why are you here now, and not leaving the planet like the coward you are, running away from the consequences of your actions?" the AI was now yelling at him, anger bleeding into its voice.

_ "I don't know, ok?" _ he shouted right back, sitting straighter with the shout. "I just don't- it's- how am I supposed to do anything against the person I love? How am I supposed to- to betray him? How-"

With a strangled hiss, all fight left his body and he collapsed on himself, and he felt helpless as he asked, "I don't know anything ok."

With a flash of red light, the AI appeared closer to him, and it asked, "Then what would you like to know?"

Looking at the AI, he found himself lacking anything to ask. Up until now, his life had been structured because of Simmons, and he had gotten so used to it, he everything he knew came from him-

A question formed in his head, and he licked his lips anxiously as he asked, "What- what is Simmons afraid of?"

"You humans delude yourselves with your emotions," the AI starts. "How you can poison yourselves so rapidly when in love is baffling, and he knows this. He knows how the two of you have fallen into something wrong, but he doesn't stop it. He knows that he can get away with hiding who he truly is because you cannot see what's plain in front of you."

"What are you talking about," he snapped, fuse cutting short.

"Idiot human," the being bit. "He's afraid of you figuring out just where he got that knife from."

Eyes flickering to the AI and the direction that Simmons went, he feels his heart drop into his stomach at the question that he never got an answer from.

Part of him doesn't want to ask- years of asking and getting nothing pounding into his head- but he looks at the AI and realizes that information is readily available for him for the first time in a while.

And taking the first step, he asks, "Where did he get that knife from?"

* * *

He doesn't bother to hide his presence as he storms to the open balcony that holds the SIMs and Simmons.

The other mercenary obviously sees him approaching, and despite his cornered position, he still yelled, "What are you doing here?! I told you to  _ stay." _

"Holy shit," Tucker had yelled, surprised by his presence, especially with how close he was to him, immediately raising his gun towards his head.

But Grif ignored him as he continued to move towards Simmons, one step at a time.

"It's over," he informed him, emotionless as he stares down the other man.

"No- it isn't," Simmons denied. "I can still kill them- I and you- since you're here then help  _ me!" _

Shaking his head, he realizes the other man didn't get exactly what he meant, "No, I mean it's over for  _ you." _

"What?" Simmons asked, a few of the other SIMs sharing his confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"I know," he decides to skip all the bullshit. "I know where you got your knife from."

"What the hell are they even talking about?" the dark orange soldier asked the one in green.

But Simmons knew exactly what he was referring to, and by the stammer in his voice, Grif could just imagine how blanched his face had become.

"I don't- how?!" he demanded, forgoing denying it. "How did you find out- was it Donut? Did he  _ tell you?!" _

"No," he shook his head, and he didn't want to reveal that it was the AI that had told him. "I just want to know- why? Why would you lie about it?"

"I-" Simmons stuttered, but Grif didn't let him continue.

"I wouldn't have been mad," he yelled, getting worked up and having life brought back into him since learning. "Did you  _ rip _ it out of my face? What- just because it was the knife that had  _ gouged _ my eye out, I didn't deserve to  _ know?" _

"Oh my god," Wu raised a hand to cover where his mouth would have been without his helmet on.

"I was doing it to protect you!" Simmons finally spoke without faltering. "You would have hated me!"

"I wouldn't have- that's the thing!" he felt so betrayed, so hurt. "I _wouldn't_ have. If you had just told me  _ the truth." _

"I'm sorry!" Simmons blurted out. "I can beg for your forgiveness later, I'll make everything up to you!"

"No," he shook his head. "This- this isn't something that you can just- you can't just sweep this under the rug-"

Simmons reached for him, grabbing his hands, grip painfully tight, "No, I can make it up to you, I swear! Please, you can't just leave me, what of all those nights we spent together, I can make it so that it's like before- it'll be like nothing's changed!"

Pulling his hands out of the other man's hold, he can feel himself so very tempted to just let it go- just this once- because the offer is everything that he wants, but-

But he knows that that's just not going to happen.

"Terrance, don't-" he hears behind him, but he's shocked when he feels someone pull him back, away from the other mercenary.

He stumbles with the movement, and for a moment he thinks that the SIM is going to attack him, but Sharkface is just keeping him away from the other mercenary- that's it. And he wonders how that little moment looked to their audience, what all these SIMs thought of it.

But Simmons' hackles are raised, and he growls out, "Leave him alone, I'll kill you  _ for that-" _

"I don't think you will," the green soldier cut him off. "Old dogs like us can learn new tricks, after all."

"Nice one, Sam," the soldier behind him spoke.

"And Wombwell?" Tucker spoke, throwing something towards the other man’s feet.  _ "Catch." _

Looking down, Simmons stepped back shocked at the sight of the grenade. Grif too was shocked, but he was prompted into action, fear coursing through him at what he knew was going to happen next.

But he was far away enough that he couldn't push the other mercenary out of the way, and it exploding launching the other man backward, and possible off the edge of the balcony's side if it wasn't for Grif clasping his hands.

Simmons was completely off the edge, but Grif tried his best to hold on, body slipping towards the edge due to the weight of the other man and the pull of gravity.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to pull Simmons up, but he just slipped forward, jostling the two of them with the motion.

"Grif-" Simmons spoke, wetness to his voice. "I-"

But Grif couldn't hold on any longer, and the other man's hands slipped from his hold, his eyes widening in horror, and the other man disappeared from view, screaming out,  _ "GRIF!" _

His foot is on the ledge before he can even recognize he's moving, and he feels tightly wound up like a spring, and he can't stop himself, he knows that he's going to  _ vault himself of the side to follow Simmons- _

But thankfully, one of the SIM Troopers sprung into action, pulling him back, and he half expects to see Sharkface again, but it's Wu and his hands hover over his shoulders as he asks, "Are you alright?"

He can't respond, eyes still wide and his lips slightly parted as he shook with each breath, and there's something in his hands, but in his horror, he can't feel it.

"Holy shit, this is  _ so much _ better than any of the dramas I watch," the dark orange soldier told his partner.

"Is he dead?" Tucker asked, wary.

"It's doubtful that anyone could have survived a fall like that," the green soldier spoke confidently.

"You'd be surprised," Sharkface had answered, doubt in his voice.

"Nero?" Wu spoke, bringing him into awareness if only a little. He's looking down at the object in his hands, and when Grif looks up, he sees that it's the deactivated sword that Simmons had been holding before he went over.

Tightening his grasp on it, it activates for him.

And his throat closed up at the sight of it, looking back towards the edge.

"What are we going to do with him?" the orange soldier asked, looking at Grif.

Standing up, the SIMs scattered away from him. And no one stopped him as he practically dragged himself to where the key would have activated the temple.

Staring down at the offending blade, he inserts it without a word, turning on the communication hub.

His mind was still whirling on how the last thing he had done to Simmons was abandoning him-  _ letting go of his hand- _

"There," he croaked, trying to speak past the lump in his throat. "Save this planet. Send your message."

Santa appeared to watch the events that were going down, and he didn't know why it looked down at him, but he couldn't care less about it.

He turned, not wanting to be in this room any longer, when Tucker called out, "Where do you think you're going? Just cause you realized your ex was a piece of shit, doesn't mean you're getting off scot-free. You had as much of a hand as he did in all of this! You're the reason why so many people died."

"I know," his mind was filled with white static, imaging the death count of everyone who had died in this manufactured war. "I want to make things right, I-"

"You can run, but we'll find you," the Freelancer AI appeared again.

"I-" he knew this, he wasn't like Simmons, he couldn't just disappear at will.

And part of him knew that he should just stay and let them do what they wanted to him- sentence him to death, life in prison,  _ whatever- _

That'd be the right thing to do, that sounds like something even Doyle would have done if  _ he _ were Grif.

But he's not quite there yet, and he runs, knowing that the SIMs had more pressing matters to attend to.

Grif couldn't stop himself, he's a fucking  _ coward- _ he's not some misunderstood hero, not some  _ good person- _ not like Washington thought that he could be.

But he wanted to be, he wanted to try, he wanted to be better.

And as Santa appeared to him to give him access to an alien ship, claiming that he could sense the start of a true warrior heading down the right path, he saw the arrival of the Staff of Charon.

If they thought that everything was over because of the death of Simmons, then  _ Sarge _ would prove them wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> I acknowledge that Locus focused on Washington in the series because he wanted to be a perfect soldier, but here I found the dynamic of Grif obsessing over the conundrum that was Doyle's sacrifice to be _much_ more fitting for his character in this AU.
> 
> If you'd like to contact me, you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


End file.
